Demons and Tributes
by Faith Withers
Summary: The First has Spike under its spell. He's gone mad, and Buffy pities him even after all he's done. Will they be able to save the world together? Or will it crumble while they try? Set during Season 7. This is my idea of how Season 7 could've been.
1. Losing Heaven in Hell

A/N: Okay, so this is my first fan fiction on here in three years! Whew, I didn't know I had it in me, but I think this came out okay. I wanted to do a Buffy fic because I've been watching a lot of the show lately, and I had an idea. I don't know how much of it I'll get done and when, especially since I'm trying to write a novel and get published *someday* _and_ going to college (which starts up in a month,) but I think I like this chapter. Okay, sorry for the major run on sentence. I've read over this chapter a million times, and I'm pretty sure anything you'll want to call a mistake is on purpose. Read, enjoy, and please review! Thanks!

A/N 2: Before you read this, though, (I always like adding a bit of music into the mix,) listen to "Big White Room" from Jessie J. Usually I'll give you something Alternative or Hard Rock/Metal, but "Big White Room" is perfect for this chapter. Go take a listen on Youtube or Spotify or Veevo or whatever music player/site you like.

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"Shite!" Spike punched the cement wall, feeling the bones inside his hand weep and crumble. They gave, but because of what he was, so did the wall. "Kitty whiskers and puppy dog tails are all that keep me here. If I was human would I be better suited for the slayer? Or would she even bother with me at all? My pretty little darling… could I kill? Would I not? Pretty poppet picks posies." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Miss Moppet munches meat… Buffy bucks before bones." He began to laugh – sly at first, then broader, his mouth opening wide as his face morphed from handsome normalcy to vampirism.

Blood…

Somebody _else's _blood…

PIG'S BLOOD –

pumped through his veins.

God, he was so hungry. Never had he felt so hungry. Okay, maybe once or twice. Maybe, maybe just once. Or, maybe he'd always been this hungry. Maybe he was just a hungry human being. But this hunger, this famished aching, grew until he could no longer stand staring at his own exposed arm without salivating. The saliva drenched his upper lip, drip – drip – dripping from his skin like blood should be. He needed it – wanted it.

Vampires were such intricate creatures, able to hide within themselves like humans – pretend they were real humans if they wanted to, but they didn't have to. They came out at night, just like teenagers and clubbers did. Otherwise they hid in sewers or in mausoleums.

Spike stared at his bare arm, unblinkingly.

He couldn't bear it anymore.

His bare arm glared at him saying, "Bite me! Eat me! Drink me!"

He couldn't _bear_ it anymore.

A mouse scurried along the ledge on the window by his head. It stopped, sniffed the air.

"Vampire's little attention turned on the mouse…" Spike snatched the rodent, sinking his fangs into the soft fur, passing into the soft flesh, passing into the darkest place he'd ever known. Darker than when he was 'William the Bloody' because then at least the evil was in control. Controlled evil was always the harshest, and had he been harsh? An understatement – one slayers continuously made over him. "Mommy and Daddy punish William the Bloody… punish… _punish…_ for all my sins. Punish… punish… William must _punish_ Daddy for the hit. Mommy must punish Willy for punishing Daddy."

"_Spike?" _a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Dropping the mouse, the vampire squatted, shrinking into as tiny a ball as he could. "You're not real." His face was covered in rodent-blood.

Buffy stepped off the bottom of the stairs. Delicate hand still on the railing, she was radiant – hair set in a clip, red leather pants, spare make-up, crème-colored lace blouse. Beauty was her name – not _Buffy_, **beauty**.

"Last time I checked I was real." An indignant pout rested on her lips. Walking up to him, she raised her arm. "I'm pinch-able, so I'm real. If you try anything, the sock to your face will feel real, too."

He stared at her, unsure. He pinched her, still unsure. "Pretty poppet pulling posies put promptly in places." Quiet, near silence even, he looked away from her.

"I should've known better than to ask for your help." Her arm dropped.

Nothing made sense. Spike pulled his prized leather jacket tight around him, staring at the massacred mouse before smearing it into the cement with his combat boot. "Miss Moppet's mopey… Can Willy help Miss Moppet?" Through his headache and sheer confusion, he couldn't tell what her expression was. Was it hurt? Confounsion? Wait, no, that wasn't right. Confounsion wasn't a word. Confound-ness? Maybe that was better. She was trying to help him, that much he knew. Anything else strained his brain.

"Spike… Xander is getting you pig's blood. You're going to be okay. You don't have to drink rodents. We're going to take care of –"

"SPIKE." Another Buffy voice interrupted the first Buffy voice.

But wait, that wasn't right.

Tall boots came clomping down the stairs. "You were all talky." Buffy blinked at the bottom.

"Lemme alone," Spike slurred, hiding his face with his jacket.

"Who were you talking to?"

Spike laughed bitterly. "Curiosity killed the kitty, Buffy."

"I'm going to ask this one more time: who were you talking to?"

"Buffy." The answer was simple, but as Spike glanced toward her, he realized it had her mind in chaos.

She looked behind her. "But I was upstairs and stuff." Turning back around, she blinked. "It couldn't have been meant for me. Was it The First?"

Spike coiled his arms around his head, beginning to rock back and forth. "Gnugh… make it stop… make it stop… make it stop… Gnugh…"

He looked up. Grimaced. "Not now. Not never. Not never pretty pretty poppet picking posies… sea shells by the sea shore." He punched himself in his right temple.

"The First is pretending to be you. Should've seen it coming. Should've seen it coming. Stupid bloody William. Bloody William's no good at poetry… no good. _Four and twenty naughty boys baked in a pie… when the pie was opened –" _he chuckled_ "- the boys began to scream; wasn't that a dainty dish, to set before the…" _His eyes turned yellow and his pupils became pinpricks. He'd turned. "Queen!"

Buffy squatted beside him, wiped some blood off his cheek with her thumb. "You hurt me… yet I can't help but be all feely for you. This feeliness is sorry. This sorriness is worry." She shook her head. "I feel _sorry_ for you, Spike… after all you've done. You say you're all soul-filled now. Prove it. Fight The First; it doesn't have to be heady with you."

She stood, but Spike tugged her back down with his left hand, and wiped his mouth with his right, which was still chained to the wall. Face changing back to normal, he gazed at her longingly. "Spike wants to be William. Good… soul-filled. He won't do poetry… he's not a bloody poet and he bloody knows it. He'll fight. Promise. Pity, pity… please?"

"Fight it," was the last thing she said before she walked away, leaving Spike to the seemingly growing tumor that was his perplexity.


	2. Whose Side Are You On?

_**A/N:**_Here's chapter two. Please, if you read then review. If you don't read then I suppose there would be nothing for you to review. But, please read, because I swear it's going to be a bumpy ride!

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"What's he like when he's all… loopy, anyway?" Xander shifted his head from side to side, practically using Spirit fingers. He was still trying to be Mr. Funny, even when he felt like it was really the end instead of _maybe_ the end like in the past.

Buffy choked down a laugh. "You're trying to make me feel better, aren't you?"

Xander exchanged weight from foot to foot, quieting his voice, lowering his head, and preparing him and her. "Listen, I have some bad news."

"And the Cryptic-ness Award goes to…"

"Hey, aren't I allowed to be the bear of bad news once in a while?" Xander crossed his arms over his chest.

Buffy nodded. "I believe it's the '_bearer_ of bad news,' but go on."

"We think you're slipping."

Buffy's eyebrows knit. "We? Who's we?"

"Everybody. Everybody thinks you're slipping, Buff. I got hurt. Girls died. They're scared. Hell, _I'm_ scared. We don't think you know what you're doing." Xander tried to catch Buffy's arm, but she was already heading into the living room. "My eye still hasn't caught on to the 'working alone' part of being a Cyclops."

He stood alone in the kitchen, listening to the conversation Buffy and the rest of the household were having. Somehow, feeling like an idiot wasn't an option. He had to do something – _but what?_ From day one he promised he'd follow Buffy till the end, and now The Potentials were talking about putting _Faith_ – the slayer who had once murdered _innocents_ to bring on the apocalypse – in charge. This was not a Democracy. There was only one slayer Xander trusted with his life, even though he felt she nearly got him killed. And then, he chuckled at himself: _it's not her fault… I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Yeah, that's it._ _Damn, it's so easy playing the Blame Game, though_.

When Xander heard their final conviction, he entered the living room. "Buff, you're not leaving this house without me."

Buffy looked up at him, tears in her eyes, and then around at the rest of the room, eyes landing on Willow. "I nearly got him killed… and he's still coming with me. Will you?"

"I don't blame you." Xander shoved his hands in his pockets, near silence, but just loud enough for the room to hear.

The awkwardness killed everyone's love for sanity, giving them the only proposition that was left: Faith being leader – an insane idea that could lead to mass destruction to Xander, at least. The Potentials didn't know any better; but Giles did, and yet he said nothing.

Willow eyed Kennedy and Giles, mouth languid, her pupils dilating. She finally landed her gaze on her lap. "Xander, please stay."

Xander shook his head. "Everybody makes mistakes. When I go down I'll be glad to say I did it with friends I could trust."

Faith scoffed. "You still trust her after what she did to your eye?"

"She didn't shove her finger in and pop the locket – the big bad did." Xander changed his attention to Willow and Giles, "C'mon, guys… Giles, you're her Watcher, and Will? You and I are her best friends. Since when do best friends turn their backs on each other? We can leave The Potentials with Faith and go off on our own – just like old times."

Willow smiled gently. "I don't know…"

"She's not going!" Kennedy snapped, squeezing Willow's hand.

Willow carefully peeled her hand from Kennedy, avoiding her new paramour's eyes. "I don't know…"

"You still trust her?" Giles slipped off his glasses, cleaning them on his cotton sweater.

Xander nodded curtly, swallowing the lump in his throat. He knew how Buffy felt, everybody ganging up on her, because now they were ganging up on him.

Buffy gasped, "Giles?" Obviously not knowing what to do or say, she allowed her friend, the only one standing up for her, Xander, to do all the talking.

Except, all he could do now was shake his head. "C'mon, Buff, let's go."

Willow glanced longingly at Kennedy, but then stood. "I'm going wherever Xander goes."

Giles nodded. "Well, then, we have work to do. Buffy, lead the way."

Buffy looked at her sister. "Dawn?"

She reached for Dawn's hand, but Dawn pulled away, shaking her head. "Sorry, but no. I love you, but no."

Faith raised her eyebrows, still trying to gain some ground. "Wow, look-y here… Buffy's sister's breaking from the womb."

"Shut up… I still don't like you," Dawn snapped.

Faith put up her hands. "Whoa… touchy, touchy."

Kennedy glared at Willow. "She doesn't know what she's doing. She's going to get you killed, and then where will you be? You'll be dead!"

Xander chuckled. "Seeing how well the apocalypse is shaking up, we'll be dead anyway, so it won't matter."

"I'm not going to let my best friends die." Buffy opened the front door. "C'mon, we need to find a place to stay."

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_**A/N 2:**_There's a song called "New Resolution" from the duet Azure Ray that you, my reader, should look up and listen to because it goes with this chapter quite well. It's very different from the first song I told you to listen to in that it's very eerie and is kind of a whisper rock. I think it's beautiful. And, as I have said before, I will ask you to listen to a different song after you read each chapter. Happy listening!


	3. Hell Falling Up

A/N: Hey! Sorry for going totally AWOL for about... *checks watch* Fifteen days? Has it really been that long? I know I have some followers, and one person even favorited this story, so thank you! Thank you so much! I just started my second year of college, so things are a little insane, and I'm also writing a Haven fan fiction called "Tear The World Down," but I swear I'll finish this story. I've got some ideas. Anyway, enjoy this chapter! I know it's super short, but at least it's something! Thanks all for reading. Enjoy!

A/N 2: Check out "Pistol Whipped" from Marilyn Manson. Lyrics from that song have a one-liner in here. It's an extremely dark song, but what can you expect from Marilyn Manson? Anyway, thanks again for checking this out!

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He heard commotion all around, coming up through the cracks in the floor and the spaces in his head. He heard her voice through and through, by and by, until he couldn't hear his own incoherent cries echoing in the basement. He heard nothing and everything – all that mattered was in his head.

"Pretty poppet posing picture people," he said.

"Slayer slaying slandering skins," he said.

"Flaying n' flogging fresh flesh!" still, he said.

He rocked back and forth in a shallow grave made up solely with his mind. The grave shook and quaked with every thought that wasn't his and every sin he'd committed; whether it was sex or murder, it didn't matter; he still _owned _them.

And finally, it clicked. The rotary dial in his brain switched to "on" after being stuck in the "off" position for so long.

He blinked, irises turning yellow and pupils dilating, fangs sprouting from behind his lips. Licking them, he tilted his head and crooned, "You're a little pistol, and I'm fucking pistol whipped," from some Marilyn Manson song he'd heard on the radio.

Face returning to its human state, he shook off any sensation likely to lead into madness. "Bloody hell, using my brain as target practice, will you? Bloody bugger is what you are."

"Talkin' to yourself again, vamp?" A voice from above, and then the sound of boots coming down the stairs, followed by two other sets of footsteps.

Light flooded from above.

He had a bad feeling, but he was Spike.

He was a champion.


End file.
